


Winter Entertainment

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Trash Party [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Belts, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gangbang, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Rape, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slave Jaskier | Dandelion, Threats of Castration, examination kink, geralt loves his pack :))), threats of other violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: Geralt has always considered himself something akin to a leader of their meagre pack. Sure, Vesemir was much older than him, and more experienced, the closest thing to a father either of them have - but Geralt was the strongest of them, the only one with the extra set of trials administered, and he feels… responsible, for his fellow Wolves. He feels like he should protect them, and take care of them, and provide for them - be a good leader. (It doesn’t help that the others, despite brotherly teasing and fatherly concern, look up to him and willingly follow his lead.)So that’s why he’s buying a slave.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert/Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Trash Party [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990582
Comments: 12
Kudos: 272





	Winter Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

> _"[...] Maybe Geralt brings new sex slave Jaskier with him for the winter so the Wolves can train him up right?"_

Geralt has always considered himself something akin to a leader of their meagre pack. Sure, Vesemir was much older than him, and more experienced, the closest thing to a father either of them have - but Geralt was the strongest of them, the only one with the extra set of trials administered, and he feels… responsible, for his fellow Wolves. He feels like he should protect them, and take care of them, and provide for them - be a good leader. (It doesn’t help that the others, despite brotherly teasing and fatherly concern, look up to him and willingly follow his lead.)

So that’s why he’s buying a slave.

Over the last winter, he has noticed they had all been restless. There was much more arguing, much more petty fights than usual. They had been frustrated and on edge, tempers clashing constantly, and they had been taking their anger out on each other to distract themselves what was really bothering them - what _is_ really bothering them, still.

A witcher doesn’t get much relief on the Path - whores charging double or even triple for a witcher, _if_ they even allow witchers. Faced with such a price, a witcher usually turns to his hand instead, not wanting to spend the coin that might repair an armour piece or buy a new sword (and therefore save his life down the line) on one night of pleasure.

(And okay, Geralt also still feels guilty for adding to the stigma against witchers with the stunt he pulled in Blaviken - )

So he will buy them a slave to share over the winter, to fuck out their frustrations.

He has been squirrelling away coin for one ever since he returned to the Path in spring, taking any and every contract he came across, eating and drinking less, sleeping outside more, sacrificing a little comfort for his pack.

Even then, he was only able to afford a slave close to the end of the season, shortly before winter came - at this time, the prices always dropped, because not many people wanted to get another mouth to feed this close to the winter.

The slaver had regarded him strangely when Geralt approached him, but had apparently decided that a mutant’s coin is better than no coin at all and took Geralt to show him his wares.

The selection is not very broad - there are just about eight slaves, the majority of them men. That is not a problem, neither of the Wolves care much about the sex of their sexual partners and any warm hole will satisfy them. All the slaves stand, almost naked, collared, shivering in the autumn cold, with their backs to him, tied by their hands to hooks on the outside of the slavers’ wagon, looking at him over their shoulder with both curiosity and fear in their eyes.

All except for one.

A young man, dark-haired and wiry, is determinedly staring forward, at his tied hands, and where the others have been allowed the dignity of a shirt, he stands only in a pair of ragged braies, his back a map of fresh bruises - from a switch, Geralt would guess.

“What did that one do?” Geralt asks, gesturing to the beaten slave.

“He bit one of my men when they were tying him to the hook this morning,” the slaver shrugs. “He’s the newest addition to our sortiment - we caught him just a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t recommend him to you, he’s not trained at all - though it does make him a bit cheaper than a well-trained slave…”

Maybe a wild, disobedient slave is just the right thing for him and his pack. An outlet for both sexual and ordinary aggression alike - a fucktoy and a punching bag rolled into one. The training will give them something to do other than fighting and cooking and repairing. After all, they are all predators, and what fun is prey that doesn’t struggle?

“Can I take a look at him?” Geralt asks.

The slaver nods. “Watch out for his teeth,” he warns him good-naturedly.

Geralt steps closer to the slave. The first thing he does is look over his bruised back - he’s pleased to see none of the strikes has broken skin, he wouldn’t want to deal with an infection first thing after purchasing a slave. The man’s posture is good - almost that of a noble, which makes Geralt wonder, but it does not make him pause in his assent. He feels his sides, checking for broken ribs. When he finds none, he catches the man’s jaw in his hand and pulls his face to the side.

The man resists, but soon finds it is futile in the face of witcher strength, so he settles for trying to kill Geralt with his gaze alone. His very blue gaze.

He has a pretty face. He’s angry and in pain, but Geralt still notices that he would have a certain boyish charm about him if he were to smile. Which he maybe will, one day, if Geralt and his brothers train him up right. Geralt pries his lips open - his teeth are straight and a healthy colour. The man attempts to bite him, but it barely registers through the thick draconid leather of Geralt’s gloves - instead, Geralt forces his mouth open further. Everything seems in order, from the colour of his gums to the number of his molars.

He wipes the man’s saliva on his bare chest. He’s hairy, starting low on his neck and disappearing into his breeches. Geralt doesn’t really care about bodily hair and he suspects that the rest of the Wolves won’t mind either, but he also muses that it might be fun having the man waxed, if any of his brothers were to protest.

Geralt reaches for the waistband of the slave’s breeches - and the slave jerks away violently (not very far, given that he’s still tied to the wagon).

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses. “If you do, I’ll - I’ll kick you!”

Geralt snorts, amused. As if a slightly malnutritioned, untrained man is any threat to a witcher. “Keep your pretty mouth shut, boy,” he says, “or I’ll have them whip you again before we get on the road.”

The slave gulps and averts his eyes.

Geralt tugs down his breeches (he doesn’t have any smallclothes on, as the slavers probably only saw them as a hindrance) and he can feel the man tense up under his hands. Geralt looks over his cock first. It’s shrunken with cold, but there’s no sign of disease, and Geral can already imagine it leaking, red from denial and abuse both… cuter than anything he’s ever seen. Then, he moves to his ass. He spreads the slave’s cheeks wide, to get a good look at his hole.

“Did you and your men use him at all since you’ve caught him?” Geralt asks the slaver, curiously prodding at the tight ring of muscle.

“We fingered him a bit, but we didn’t get further. Nobody wants a ripped slave.”

Geralt hums. He spits on the slave’s hole and pushes his gloved finger inside. The man yelps in pain and jerks in his bonds, clenching around Geralt’s finger. He’s tight and warm and he’ll feel wonderful on Geralt’s dick.

“Ever taken a cock, boy?” he asks, slowly fucking his finger in and out.

“Yes,” the man grits out. “Hate to disappoint you, but I’m not a virgin.” There’s a badly disguised hope in his remark - he thinks that will save him from being bought. Adorably foolish.

Geralt pulls out his finger and wipes the spit on the slave’s skin again, pulling on his breeches with his free hand.

He turns to the slaver, “I’ll take him.”

“What? No!”

The man starts trashing as one of the slaver’s men gets a good grip on his collar and another starts untying his hands. Geralt hands the slaver his coin, meanwhile the helpers lead the struggling slave over to Geralt’s horse and tie him to the saddle with a length of rope.

“Pleasure doing business with you, witcher.”

They ride on, Geralt sat on Roach and the slave trudging behind them. The man is still fidgeting, but the real fight left him after the first half an hour, when he realized that he won’t get out of his bonds that easily. Geralt knows he’s just biding his time and waiting for a better opportunity to escape - which Geralt won’t give to him - but the momentary respite is nice.

He won’t be sleeping inside until he gets to Kaer Morhen, that much is sure - he can’t walk into an inn with such a badly behaved slave. In the spring, hopefully… It’s good that the keep is not far and that Geralt doesn’t really get cold. The slave might, but Geralt will be right there to keep him warm - it would be a waste of money to let the man freeze.

When the light starts fading, they stop and Geralt makes camp, leaving the slave tied to Roach while his hands are busy. He gets a fire going and he eats, before he turns his attention to his companion.

He unties him from the saddle, but instead of releasing him, he pulls on the rope, forcing him to his knees, and then he slips the rope between his legs to tie his ankles together with it. He works quick, not giving the slave the chance to fight him, and soon enough, he can step back to admire his work - the slave on his knees, a deep frown on his handsome face, his bound hands and ankles connected with a rope just short enough that it’s uncomfortable.

“Do you have a name, boy?”

“I’m Jaskier,” the slave says. “You?”

“I’m Geralt, but you will address me ‘sir’ or ‘master’.”

“And if I won’t?” Jaskier quirks a defiant eyebrow at him.

“Then I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“I’m not a child!” Jaskier protests, “I’m a fucking person - “

“If you talk back to me or speak out of turn,” Geralt growls, “I’ll make myself a switch and beat you black and blue, got it?”

Jaskier gulps and nods.

“Good. Now, Jaskier, just this once, I’ll give you a choice. Either I take your mouth, or your ass.” Victory flashes in Jaskier’s eyes, so Geralt hastens to add, “If you choose to have me use your mouth and you bite me, I will have you gelded first thing after we arrive at Kaer Morhen. Having balls is a luxury only deserved by well-behaved slaves.”

The camp is filled by the smell of Jaskier’s fear at the threat. He shifts his weight from one knee to the other. “Mouth,” he mumbles. “I won’t bite.”

“That’s not how we ask, is it?”

Jaskier gapes at him, affronted. “I won’t fucking beg - “ Geralt levels him with A Look that is meant to convey that Geralt is _this close_ to carving a switch, and Jaskier’s jaw snaps shut. He seems to fight with himself for a moment, before he finally whispers, “Please, have my mouth, sir.”

Geralt pats his head with one hand, while he busies his other with unlacing his trousers. He gives himself a few strokes to get hard and then, with his gloved thumb shoved as far into Jaskier’s mouth as possible to prevent him from biting down, he feeds the man his cock.

Jaskier’s mouth is hot and wet and when Geralt grips a handful of hair at the back of his head to move him on his dick, he doesn’t fight anymore. He does whine and choke at times, when Geralt thrusts in too deep, but Geralt is confident that they will train it out of him. At one point, Geralt pulls him off his cock completely, to watch him greedily gulp air, saliva running down his chin, cheeks streaked with tears. He’s absolutely beautiful, and at that moment, Geralt knows he chose right - none of the other slaves would be better.

He finishes deep in Jaskier’s throat and is pleased to discover that he doesn’t have to force the man to swallow - he does so on his own.

“What do we say, Jaskier?” Geralt prompts.

“...thank you, sir,” Jaskier says, voice small - be it from humiliation or from the abuse his throat endured, Geralt doesn’t know. Then he collapses to the ground, sobbing violently.

Geralt was planning on feeding him after using him, but the slave cries long into the night and stops only when he falls asleep, still tied up. Geralt moves him into his bedroll and keeps him warm through the night.

Geralt wakes Jaskier by pulling his breeches under the swell of his ass and rutting between his cheeks until he paints his lower back with his come. He takes time to rub it in, to mark Jaskier as his - to stake the claim of the Wolves on him, so he smells nice for them when they first see him. Then, he finally feeds him.

Geralt frees his legs and ties him to Roach’s saddle again, and they walk on.

It takes them a week to reach the keep. Geralt keeps using the man’s mouth - he doesn’t want to shift focus of their training just yet, thinking that it’s better to train up a good little cocksucker than to have a slave that can’t do much of either. He also wants to grant his brothers and father the pleasure of the tight clutch of an unused hole - Jaskier claims to not be a virgin, but after those few weeks out of use, he _will_ feel like a virgin when he takes witcher cock for the first time in his life.

“Geralt!” calls Eskel, running across the courtyard to greet him. They embrace and scent each other, nuzzling into the other’s neck. They have always been closest, the two of them, and Geralt is happy that Eskel is the first one he presents Jaskier to. With Eskel’s scarred face, he gets turned away from brothels even more often than the rest of them - so Geralt is glad to be able to offer him a tool to fuck away his frustrations.

“Eskel,” Geralt smiles and kisses his brother on the mouth, lovingly. “I brought some entertainment for the winter.” He inclines his head towards where Jaskier stands, tied to Roach’s saddle.

A fresh wave of the man’s fear hits his nose. He tugs at his restraints, but Roach is a good mare and she doesn’t move an inch.

Eskel’s pupils widen with hunger when his eyes fall on the slave. “Geralt, you - “

“I bought us a slave,” Geralt murmurs, gently stroking Eskel’s scarred cheek, “so we won’t kill each other this winter. Everyone was so on edge last time…”

Eskel covers his hand with his own and nuzzles his face into Geralt’s open palm. “You are too good to us, Geralt.”

“Anything for my pack,” Geralt swears.

Eskel helps him stable Roach, and then he carries his bags while Geralt’s hands are busy tugging Jaskier along by the rope. He’s resisting, babbling fearfully, trying to dig his heels in but slipping on the frozen, snow-covered ground of the courtyard. Geralt just huffs in annoyance - Jaskier had been doing so good on their way to the keep, and now he’s freaking out at the notion of being _shared_.

“Keep struggling and I’ll spank you,” Geralt warns him, but Jaskier doesn’t listen. Well, Jaskier has not been punished so far - seems it is high time Geralt shows him he means every single threat he makes seriously.

In the main hall, they find Lambert and Vesemir sitting by the big fireplace, two decks of cards laid out on the table in front of them - Lambert has been trying to teach Vesemir Gwent for at least two winters now (because he is tired of Geralt’s and Eskel’s “boring, basic strategies”), but Vesemir always forgets how to play over the season when he doesn’t have anyone to play with. They look up, the game immediately forgotten.

Vesemir smiles softly when he notices Jaskier - while the biggest grin Geralt’s ever seen on him splits Lambert’s face.

“What did the wolf drag in?” Lambert asks.

“You are welcome to take a look yourself,” Geralt tells him and pushes Jaskier to land in his lap.

Jaskier yelps with pain as he lands, and he tries to scramble up and get away, but Lambert’s strong arms wrap around him and cage him in. The youngest witcher gives him a good sniff. “Aw, Geralt, lending us your used cumrag? You shouldn’t have,” he chuckles, squeezing a handful of Jaskier’s backside.

“Let - me - go,” Jaskier grunts, pounding on Lambert’s chest with his tied-together fists. Lambert just laughs, catches his wrist in one hand and wrenches them away from his own body.

“I got us a pet to train over the winter,” Geralt tells Vesemir. “I think it will help with the cabin fever we always get, you know?”

“Good thinking, my boy,” Vesemir praises. “But this seems like a particularly feisty pet. Training it will certainly be a handful.”

“Well, there’s four of us,” Geralt shrugs, “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“ _Geralt_ ,” gasps Jaskier, “you can’t possibly - “

Geralt takes him by the collar and hauls him upright, choking him a little as he does, and slaps him across the face, hard. The slave reaches to cradle his stinging cheek with his bound hands, but Geralt bats them away. “You will address me with respect, as well as all the others - they are your masters just like I am. You will follow any orders they give you, and you certainly won’t be telling anyone what they _can_ or _can’t_ do. Are we clear, bitch?”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier mumbles. “We are clear.”

Geralt bends him over the table (which Jaskier accompanies with another squeak) and pulls down his breeches. “Now, Jaskier, tell me what I told you outside.”

“You - you told me that if I kept struggling, you would spank me, sir.”

“And what did you do?”

“I kept struggling,” Jaskier admits, and then he quickly tacks on another “sir.”

“Good,” Geralt tells him. “For that, and your rudeness towards Lambert, you’ll get thirty strikes. You’ll count them, out loud, and thank for every single one, or I’ll start over.”

When he delivers the first slap, Jaskier screams. Geralt isn’t holding back any of his witcher strength - this is not a fun game to play with a cherished partner, this is a punishment of a disobedient slave. He’ll make sure that the lesson sticks.

“One,” Jaskier bites out. “Thank you, sir.”

Another lands in the same place.

“Two. Thank you, sir.”

The best part is that from Jaskier’s voice alone, without even seeing his face, he can tell just how much he hates it. _Good_.

He warms him up with five more - that Jaskier counts and thanks for with a progressively wetter voice - before he stands to the side (keeping one hand on Jaskier’s lower back, pinning him to the table) and gestures for the others to step up.

Eskel is the first to go. His hand is a little bigger than Geralt’s, and when he delivers the first slap, the new, bigger handprint stands out starkly against the less-reddened flesh.

“Eight!” Jaskier yelps, “thank you, sir.”

Eskel aims the next one a little lower - where Jaskier’s ass meets his thighs. The pale skin colours beautifully, and Geralt is already dreaming about taking a cane and caning the back of the man’s thighs.

Jaskier whimpers. “Nine, sir, thank you, sir.”

Eskel gets to thirteen before Lambert pushes him out of the way. By that time Jaskier stinks of anger and pain and humiliation and he’s sniffling quietly. Geralt is pretty sure they’ll make him cry before the punishment is over.

Lambert is the most sadistic of them all, always was, so it comes as no surprise to Geralt that he takes off his leather belt and folds it in half, snapping it once - at which Jaskier’s whole body tenses with fear - before he brings it down on Jaskier’s ass.

Jaskier _wails_. “Fuck, fourteen - thank you, sir.”

And again.

“Fi - fifteen,” Jaskier sobs, “thank - thank you, sir.”

And again -

“Sixteen, thank you, sir.”

\- and again.

“Seventeen! Thank y-you, sir!”

Jaskier is full on crying, face red, fat tears and even a little bit of snot running down his face, hiccuping, wheezing and sobbing. Every hit makes him howl in pain, and Lambert doesn’t step away before getting them to twenty.

Geralt can smell just how much the Wolves enjoy a vocal, whiny slut to abuse. Eskel has even slipped a hand into his trousers to play with himself.

After Lambert, Vesemir steps up. He’s calm and almost clinical as he delivers five strikes to the slave’s ass - at one point he needs to wait for a bit for Jaskier to say a number and his thanks, but eventually he does manage, and that’s all Vesemir, giving just a little softness right when it’s crucial.

“Twenty five,” Jaskier gasps, “thank you, sir.”

Vesemir gestures for Geralt to finish the job and deliver the final part of the lesson.

“Twenty six! Thank you, sir.”

“What did you do wrong, boy?”

“Twenty seven, sir, thank you, sir - I struggled when you told me not to - twenty eight, _fuck_ , thank you, sir - and I was ve-very rude to master Lambert.”

“Correct. And what do you say when you do something wrong?”

“Twenty nine! Thank you, sir - I’m sorry, sir, please forgive me, sir - _thirty, thank you, sir_ \- I won’t do it again, sir - ”

“Good, Jaskier,” Geralt hums, stroking his back. Jaskier is shaking under his hand as he cries. The man takes punishment beautifully - Geralt truly cannot wait for him to fuck up again. “Lambert, run to the kitchen, fetch the oil.”

“Come _on_ ,” Lambert protests, grabbing handfuls of Jaskier’s reddened buttocks to spread him open, “why don’t we fuck him just like this? Bitch can handle a little pain, as we all saw - if _you_ had him, he has to be still loose enough - “

“I didn’t,” Geralt says. “I didn’t have his ass. I was saving him for you all. So if you don’t want to rip your new toy first thing, don’t be lazy and get the oil.”

Lambert nods and runs to the kitchen. He’s back in a moment, carrying a bottle of cooking oil. “Who’s gonna have him first?” he asks, ever-eager.

“I think Vesemir should take his ass, and Eskel should have his mouth - don’t give me that look, Lambert, you’re only getting in him when he’s sloppy and open, I won’t risk you getting impatient and ripping him - “

Vesemir takes the oil from Lambert and slicks up his fingers. He opens the slave slowly but thoroughly, and Jaskier is soon squirming both away from and closer into his touch. As Vesemir works, Geralt leads Eskel to the other side of the table, where Jaskier’s head drops down over the edge of the wooden desk.

Geralt reaches into Eskel’s trousers with one hand, pulling his hard cock out, while he twists the fingers of his other hand in Jaskier’s hair and tugs his head up, so he faces them.

“Don’t worry, Eskel,” he tells both his brother and the slave laid out before them, “he won’t bite you. He already knows what will happen to him if he does, don’t you, boy?”

Jaskier tries to nod, and then he scowls at the pain that shoots from his scalp at the action. “Yes, I know, sir,” he rasps.

“Tell me,” Eskel says.

“If I - if I bite while - while sucking cock, you will cas- castrate me,” Jaskier forces out between body-wracking sobs and tiny hitching breaths as Vesemir fingers him open.

“And why is that?” Geralt prompts.

“Because - “ Jaskier has to take a deep, shuddering breath. “Because only good slaves deserve the luxury of keeping their useless balls. And good slaves don’t - they don’t bite.”

It’s the most basic lesson, but Geralt is ridiculously proud of how well it stuck with the boy. By the next week, he’ll probably be able to recite it without stopping in the middle.

“Open up,” Geralt says, and Jaskier does, and Geralt feeds him Eskel’s cock inch by inch. Eskel takes the handful of hair that Geralt held him by. Jaskier relaxes his lower jaw and then Eskel’s fucking his mouth with enthusiasm Geralt hasn’t seen in him in a long time. It brings a smile to his face.

Jaskier howls around the dick in his mouth as Vesemir finally slicks himself up and forces his way in, but by the time Vesemir bottoms out, the noise dies out and turns into pathetic high whining in the back of the slave’s throat.

When he starts to move, his hips hit the abused skin of Jaskier’s ass and thighs every time he thrusts in, making Jaskier squeal and wail like he’s being murdered, and Geralt knows that his choice of winter entertainment was correct.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
